Broken
by 4ever Optimistic
Summary: Some bonds were never meant to be broken. Some countries were never meant to be alone. But America was never one of them. USxUK
1. Chapter 1

So, my first Hetalia fic. It's sorta AU-ish, depending on your views, I guess. Anyway, this takes place right after the Declaration of Independence was written.

* * *

He entered the room quietly, so much so that England would not have noticed him if he had not looked up at that exact moment.

"Alfred!" England said with surprised as he placed down his quill. "What are you doing here?" The small fire from the candle danced quietly, causing shadows to flicker along the wall and over the young country's face.

America did not answer, only stepped forward with a scroll in hand. The darkness accentuated his unusually serious manner, something England had picked up right away. There were no sparks in those vivid blue eyes nor any sign of the usual jovial manner America always had. A growing sense of dread was forming in the pit of England's stomach, a warning.

"Is something wrong?"

America tossed the rolled up parchment at the older country who caught it without much trouble and England glanced down at it, then quickly back at America who already had his back turned to him.

"I thought I'd give this to you personally rather then through messenger." Looking over his shoulder, America grimaced slightly. "Though I suppose it'll make no difference in the end," he muttered to himself almost as an afterthought.

"What are you talking about, Alfred?" England demanded as he unrolled the scroll. He was confused, but the confusion was short lived when he looked at what was etched onto paper, elegant curls and smooth strokes blended together to form ten words, words that justified the dread, words that caused England to pale, words that seemed to suck all the warmth from his body.

'_The Unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America…"_

"What is this?" His hands were shaking as he asked, matching the tone of his voice. "What is this…this…blasphemy?"

"It's called a Declaration of Independence, Arthur," America answered wearily. Though he was the one breaking away, he seemed almost defeated, taxed to his limit. There were shadows under his eyes and his shoulders were slumped.

The cold shock England had felt was now slowly bleeding into rage. "I don't want it," he said coolly, throwing the parchment back at America. "You are not splitting away, Alfred."

The younger of the two instantly spun and marched up to the desk, slamming his hands down on the wooden surface. "Are you going to stop me?" he challenged as he bent over England. Blue eyes were alight with anger and any sign of fatigue was gone.

"If that is what I must do," he snapped, standing up. Yet still America towered over him, forcing England to look up at the child he had taken care of. "Is this about the taxes? You don't need to be so dramatic about something as frivolous as that, Alfred. I'm sure we can come to an agreement and forget about that…thing" He waved his hand toward the area of the fallen piece of paper which seemed to anger America even more.

"This isn't about the taxes, Arthur!"

"Then what is it? Do NOT tell me this is about the harbor because I am not re-opening it. You deserved that, bloody dumping a shipload of tea into the waters!"

Alfred growled, the sound coming from deep in his throat as he grabbed England by the lapel of his finely pressed suit. "THAT would not have_ happened_ if it weren't for your stupid taxes. Your. Damn. Taxes."

"I thought you said this wasn't about the taxes," Arthur said quietly, his green eyes glittering with a silent challenge.

"It isn't. At least not anymore." Livid blue eyes taunted the shorter man right back, lips pulled back in a faint snarl. "This is just me being _sick_ of you using me for your every whim and will."

England tried to pull back, shock flitting across his features, but America's grip was unrelenting. "I-"

"Don't even try to justify yourself," the younger man hissed. "You are a selfish, arrogant bastard with your reaches in every single part of the world. You think I wouldn't realize that I was just one of your toys, one of those little countries that you'll just abandon once you're through? I mean nothing more to you other than a source of natural resources for you to use.

"You tax me, you use me, and you set up _ridiculous_ restrictions that _no one_ with any self respect at all would follow and frankly, I am sick of it. I am sick of YOU, I am sick of your IDEAS, and I am just sick of-"

America never got his last few words in, abruptly cut short by England's fist connecting with his jaw. Surprised, the blond releases his grip of the Briton's clothing, hand instantly touching his cheek as he stumbled back a few steps.

Angrily, Arthur shoved off his suit jacket and literally ripped his tie off his neck. He was pale and scrawny, true, but he still knew how to pack a mean punch. Because underneath the well groomed gentleman, the layers of proper manners was a pirate at heart. He had been taught to fight, trained at those dingy ports full of whores flirting suggestively with everything that moved and surprisingly nimble drunks roaring for a brawl. Swords, guns, fists. He had been good at what he did and he still was. He had not acquired all his land by simply smiling and drinking tea after all. And it was now time for America to realize this.

"Do you hear yourself, Alfred?" he asked as he circumvented his desk. "You sound like a spoiled brat whining about how you do not get the bloody fucking toy you wanted! You want freedom, Alfred? You can't even take care of yourself without making some sort of mess! You have no idea how to take care of yourself! Freedom? Don't make me laugh!"

"The why don't I make you cry?" A brow cocked up in utter contempt and without warning, America launched himself at Arthur.

Fist hit flesh as both men fought, flashes of pain littered with harsh grunts of exertion. Books, pens, and paper fell to the floor in flutters and thuds as they crashed into bookcases and brushed against desks. A china vase, an old gift from Spain, wobbled on its stand before falling with a tinkering crash that was ignored. Neither gave ground until somehow, Alfred's back slammed onto the Briton's desk. He glared up at un-relenting green eyes, trying to twist out of the hold England had him in. The pointy end of a quill was jabbing into his back.

"You bloody fucker," England panted as he tried to regain his breath from a rather hard blow Alfred had aimed at his solar plexus. "Is this how treat me after everything I've done for you, after all that I've given you? I treated you like my own son!"

"Well, then we should all thank God you've never had a real son." With a forceful shove, America managed to push the Englishman away and rolled off the desk. "I'd hate to think about how screwed up he he'd be."

"You-!"

England moved to punch the taller country, but somewhere in mid-swing his fist unfurled, slapping America across the face.

"You bastard!"

Everything seemed to stop for a moment as England stood there with his hand still raised. His brow was drawn together in an expression of frustration and anger. Blue eyes stared at the offending appendage and a series of emotions flitted across America's face, but before the last one could settle, he crossed the distance between the two and smashed Arthur against the wall, lips colliding in a sudden, searing kiss.

At first the Briton thought it was an accident, but Alfred made no move to pull away. He could taste the betrayal, the anger, the confusion America was pouring into the kiss, all mixed with an under taste of bitter coffee and desperation. Seized with a sudden ferocity, England started kissing back, conveying the frustration and betrayal he himself felt.

Hands tangled into sunshine blond hair, pulling and tugging without any care of the pain they caused and in return, slightly larger hands grabbed the Briton's waist in a bruising grip, pressing the smaller body even harder against the wall. Somehow, somewhere, lips parted and the battle for dominance continued as their tongues twisted in a harsh, angry dance sending forbidden shivers down both their spines.

But just then, America shifted his stance, causing a thigh to brush against the beginning of an erection and along with a breathy moan, England was suddenly catapulted back to reality.

He quickly shoved the younger country off of himself; face dangerously flushed as he avoided the hazy blue eyes Alfred was looking at him with.

Get out," England said quietly, staring down at the carpet. America ran a hand through his tousled blond hair making no move to obey the order. "Get out," the Briton repeated more forcefully, his voice choking slightly. Still the younger country did not move.

Green eyes snapped up meet blue. "Get out! Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!! GET OUT!" He roared the last two words, struggling not to let tears fall. "I want you OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Finally, America reacted, blinking slowly. A cold mask had fallen over the usually expressive features as he backed away.

"Good bye, Iggy." His voice held a note of finality and he quickly exited, closing the door behind him. The soft click echoed for a moment, seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

"No…" His legs buckled and England slid to the floor unable to withstand the pressure of gravity any longer. Tears silently rolling down his face and desperately he hugged his knees as sobs becoming progressively louder, eventually filling the room with the sounds of his pain, his betrayal. And all the while on the floor, somewhere across the room, a single piece of parchment laid, somehow untouched by the fighting, desolate but vivid, announcing its singular purpose.

"_The Unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America…"_

America had declared its independence.

* * *

I'm not sure how well I got the characterization down, but I like the darker sides America and England. I think this is going to be a series of one shots, but in historical order which would make it a sort of loosely connected story. Of course, there will be the occasional crack chapter. Heehee! Review!!


	2. Texas

Thank you to all my readers!!! I know I said that the story would proceed in hisorical order, but I couldn't resist writing this one. It's just....America's glasses are Texas!!!! This is just a sort of crack!chapter so ignore the horrible quality.

* * *

It was just another day, another hour as England peacefully sipped at his tea, reclining comfortably in his leather office chair. He was humming tunelessly to himself, a testament as how unusually relaxed he was and foolishly, he believed that nothing could ruin his mood.

_Slam!_

"England!" The nation nearly spilt his tea as America barged into his study, his inhumane strength causing the door to leave an indentation in the wall. "England, Arthur, guess what? Guess what? Guess what?"

"What in the world do you think you're doing?" the Englishman sputtered, getting to his feet. He had quite liked that wall. And the door too seeing as it now had a large crack running through the structure. "You can't just barge in like that, you bloody Yank! Now you broke my wall and my door! What could…" He trailed off as he took in the larger nation. There was something off…

"WHAT THE HELL IS ON YOUR FACE!"

America instantly jumped at the sudden change of tone. "What? What's on my face?" he asked anxiously as he patted his cheeks, making sure there weren't any unwanted objects (namely spiders) on his features. When he was sure there wasn't anything, he looked crossly at the Briton. "Are you seeing things again, Arthur?" he asked irately.

"No-you-that-what-you-thing-AH!" England marched up to his ex-colony and pointed right between baby blue eyes. "THOSE! What-since when have you needed glasses?"

"Oh, you like 'em?" America replied happily as he tweaked the silver frames. "I got 'em for Mexico. Use to be Spain's."

"Use to be-use to be-" England's thick eyebrow twitched as he thought of his old pirate enemy. But that was a long time ago. Now they were cordial acquaintances. "You've never needed glasses. You don't need glasses. Why do you need glasses?" he ranted.

The younger nation shrugged noncommittally while smiling pleasantly, completely missing the strange signs of disbelief England was sending. "Things change, people change, that sorta stuff."

The Briton eyes him suspiciously. " Those are fake, aren't they?" he accused..

"Of course n-" But before America could finish his sentence, England snatched the frames from his face and backed away, examining the lens.

"They can't be real," he muttered to himself. "They can't be. I taught you better than to read in the dark."

"Arthur, give them back!" The American reached blindly in front of him, trying to grab the greenish blond blur that was England.

"These are not real. There is no way they are real." With a frown, England slipped the glasses on, frames a bit too big for him. "Aw, bloody hell, they're real!"

Just then, America managed to trip over some invisible speck of dust (which was understandable since he could not see) and fell onto the smaller nation, knocking both of them onto the floor and sending the glasses flying.

Eyes unfocused, Alfred blinked and patted the front of England's chest, very glad to have landed on something soft. "Hey, is that you, England?" he asked loudly as he squinted to try to see better.

"You're blind, but I'm not deaf, you bloody wanker," he snapped, batting the hand away. A faint flush was creeping up his cheek, turning darker by the second.

"Oh, so it is you," America said, placing his hands on either side of the Briton to lift off some of the weight. "Can I have my glasses back?"

This question brought the Englishman back to his previous train of thought. "You! I thought I taught you better, America! How in the world did your eyesight get so bad? Leave me for a couple of years and suddenly you're almost blind!"

The younger nation wrinkled his nose. "It's not that bad," he protested, "Not as bad as Canada anyway."

"This isn't about Canada, you twit. I thought I taught you how to take care of yourself."

"I do take care of myself," America replied blankly.

"Obviously not enough," England scoffed, pushing at the mass on top of him. The younger nation did not seem to notice and Arthur was suddenly struck with the realization of how much America had grown since the last time they had seem each other. It wasn't so much his stature that had grown, but the way he held himself. His shoulders had broadened, slightly weathered, but stronger than they had ever been. And though he was only an inch taller than the older nation, he was able to make England, making him seem smaller and weaker than he really was.

His chest was well defined under all the layers he was wearing and even as the Briton realized this, a dark blush that never fully ebbed away burned darker than ever and never would he be so internally thankful America could not see.

"Can you, uh, can you get off of me?" England mumbled.

"Mm? What?" Alfred leaned in closer, brushing against the Briton's pale cheek. "Could you repeat that?"

"Great. Blind and Deaf. Why couldn't you just be mute?"

Again the words seem to completely miss the American as he stared down at the older nation unfocused, yet unwavering blue eyes. If the blush hadn't been dark enough, it was now a deep burgundy under the scrutiny of the azure tone.

England sighed and tapped at the muscled chest on top of him, trying to push any unwanted and uninvited thoughts out of his mind. "Get off of me!" he commanded with his haughtiest tone.

A sly smile crossed over America's lips. He knew that whenever England used that tone, the Briton was trying to hide his embarrassment though it hardly worked since his flushed skin usually gave the fact away.

"And if I don't want to?" the taller nation asked teasingly.

"If you don't-you-" England sputter out a few incomprehensible words before calming down enough to form a sentence. "You will do as you are told."

"Now, now, Arthur, you know as well as I do that you can't give me orders," America chided playfully. "I'm not one of your colonies anymore."

An emerald glare was directed his way, unseen and unnoticed. "Do you want your glasses or not?"

"Well…"

With a slight growl, England used whatever leverage he had and somehow managed to roll the two over so that he ended up straddling the younger nation.

"You could have just told me you wanted to be on top." The sly smile turned suggestive with the words and luckily for England, he could not turn any redder than burgundy.

"That was completely inappropriate!" he snapped.

America somehow managed to shrug. "So are a lot of things." The Briton moved to get up, but strong hands grabbed his hips, keeping him in place. "Hey, we're not quite done yet."

"Done with what?"

Bending his leg, America nudged at England's back with knee, throwing the Englishman forward. The America leaned up to meet him, but before their lips could touch, there was a snap and a long pause.

Shock seemed to vibrate through the room. England had had thrown his hands out to balance himself when he was knocked forward, but instead of meeting the floor, the palms of his hand met the metallic frame of what had been Alfred's glasses.

"Did you just…did you just break Texas?"

England opened his mouth to proclaim his innocence, but before any words could come out, another thought stuck him. "You named your glasses?"

"Of course I named my glasses!" America said crossly as if it was the stupidest question he had ever heard. He was squinting toward the area where he had heard the snap, hand roving over the beige carpet in hopes of meeting glass and metal. "Now answer my question. Did you break Texas?"

"Hey, this would have never happened if you hadn't pushed me."

"So you did break Texas!"

"No, that's not what I-"

"You broke Texas!" Finally, Alfred managed to locate his broken glasses, fingers curling around the bent frame and cracked lens.

"Well you broke my wall _and_ my door so you should consider it tit for tat," the Englishman said, deciding to change tactics.

" 'Tit for tat'? Who even uses that phrase anymore?" America asked, bringing his spectacles to his face. He tried to access the damage, but his blurry vision did not quite help. "Besides, Texas is more important that your stupid door! It is part of my _Manifest Destiny_! You just broke God's will!"

"God? What God? I thought your country was based on religious freedom?!"

"Yes…well…" For a moment Alfred was lost for words, but he quickly found them again when he poked himself in the eyes with his glasses. "You broke Texas!!!"

"I-"

"I thought I heard you, America!"

Both English speaking countries suddenly stopped and turned toward the door, brows raised in surprised.

"Is that you, Spain?" America asked hesitantly, staring at the beige-ish blur.

"Yep!" he said cheerfully, completely blind to the awkward position the two countries were in. "So I just heard from Mexico that you won Texas, America! I was thinking about congratulating you when I realized that Mexico had left Texas at my house when he last came over. And then I heard you were heading to Arthur's house, so I swung by! And look I found you!"

"So…you're telling me that England didn't break Texas?"

"What are you talking about?" Antonio chuckled. "Mexico gave you Chihuahua!"

There was a small cough and the sound of fabric being rearranged. "Chihuahua?" England repeated quietly.

"Yep! It's that country that borders runs along the southwestern border of Texas. By the way, here's your property!" Spain flounced over to the two and slid the frames he had been holding over America's nose, the blond nation's sight instantly clearing. "There you go! Anyway, I've got to run. Lovino and I are in the middle of harvesting tomatoes and he's going to be quite cross if I don't return soon."

With a cheerful wave, the Spaniard exited as he entered: abruptly, leaving awkward silence in his wake.

"So…uh…"

Suddenly America started chuckling, the sound of playful mirth filling the room and coloring England once more.

"What are you laughing at, you wanker?" he snapped.

Alfred didn't answer, only responding by grabbing England by the back of his neck and pulling him down until their lips met in a quick kiss, the impish grin on the younger man's lips never fading.

"You're so cute when you're flustered." And before the Briton could say much more, America rolled them over so he could hover above the slighter form. "So how about we continue where we left off?"

"You-!"

* * *

Haha!! Abrupt ending!!!! Yeah, I couldn't resist adding a sudden Antonio appearence. So I thought the wording was a bit awkward, but I rushed through this so *shrug*. I am currently contemplating upon whether I write something M rated but....eh, review!


	3. War of 1812

Alright, so the theme of this is War of 1812 and it is SMUT!! Yeah, I had to change the rating to M, so if you don't read that, well... don't know what to tell you. This is my first time writing smut, so it's probably horrible. Don't hold it against me. And tell me what you think!

* * *

England watched the scene before him with a familiar rush he hadn't felt in a long time. The flames floated on the water, flickering and dancing on the mirrored surface that was occasionally broken by pieced of floating wood. All of it was his doing.

It was common knowledge that England had the best navy in the world. His many years as a pirate nation had left him with an extremely advantageous set of skills and though it had been many years since he had fully exercised his learned ability, certain things were never forgotten. Sure England seemed like a rather pitiable country with his constant tsundere attitude and tendency to blush too easily, but at sea, there was nothing that could surpass him. The water was his ultimate home and America was a fool to think he could challenge him.

"Freedom of the seas?" Arthur muttered to himself as he surveyed the wreckage with a small smirk. "Try again when you're stronger." It had been a while since he let this side of himself slip out and there was a certain thrill whenever the morally incorrect part of him took over. Still smug from his success, England turned away from the flames and carelessly sauntered across the deck to were his prisoners were lined up, kneeling on the wooden floor with their hand tied behind their backs. A British runaway, an African American, and a Native American.

He chuckled softly and stepped toward the British citizen, tapping the man under the chin to force him to look up at the green-eyed man. "Did you really think you could run away?" he asked. The runaway shuddered, seeing the predatorily gleam, and quickly looked away.

"Are you scared?" England cooed. "You should have known better than to betray me."

The captured man simply remained silent, either because he was too afraid to speak or he had a foolish mindset that he would be able to hold up to Britain. England had a sneaking suspicion that it was the former, but before he could do much more, one of his deck crew shouted, loud and urgent.

"MAN OVERBOARD!" Instantly, every man on deck rushed to see who was causing such a commotion save England and his three captives.

The blond country tsk-ed his disapproval at the rash actions of his crew and quickly snapped his fingers, a sharp sound that everyone heeded. "Pull him up, you twats," he said, "or do I have to do it myself?" There was a moment of pause before his men snapped into action, orders being shouted and items being passed. In a matter of minutes, they were heaving an unconscious man onto the ship.

When England first saw the shock of golden hair appear, he felt himself freeze. He could recognize those silky strands anywhere. "Is he still breathing?" Arthur asked as soon as his naval officers dumped the body onto the deck. His former attitude had disappeared and though he tried to hide it, worry still creased his obnoxiously thick brows. One of his officer medics confirmed the body was still alive.

The Briton rushed toward the unconscious man and knelt next to him, taking his head in his hands. "Oi! Wake up you bloody fool!" He slapped America's cheek a few times until the larger country started coughing, water spilling from his mouth. England looked up at the officers surrounding him and said, "I'll take him to my quarters." If any of them thought it was strange, they did not show it.

"What do you want us to do with the captives?" one of his admirals asked as England slung America's arm over his soldier and started standing up.

"Take them to the brig," UK answered distractedly and the blue-eyed country's hulking form swayed dangerously to the right, "I'll deal with them later." With a curt nod to the admiral, he started his descent toward his quarters, dragging the semi-conscious country along. "What the hell have you been eating?" Arthur muttered, red-faced from exertion. "You weigh a bloody ton." America just moaned in his ear in response, still too dazed to comprehend what was going on.

"Ar-Arthur?" he stuttered weakly, trying to find his feet under him. This threw both of them off balance and England stumbled franticly to avoid a head first trip down a flight of stairs.

"You're a damn fool, that's what you are," the island hissed, annoyed that he was feeling such worry for the country that betrayed him, "What were you thinking, wanting freedom? If you can't even withstand a measly attack like this, then you clearly shouldn't be out by yourself. This is pathetic."

"You're pathetic," America snapped back, a sudden surge of anger pulsing through him. "This war shouldn't even involve me. I have nothing to gain and nothing to lose. This is about you and France, so why must I choose a side?" Just in time, they arrived at England's cabin and America pushed away, staggering and leaning against the wall in order to remain standing. "Stop attacking my ships, Arthur," he said, pushing strands of wet blond hair out of his eyes. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so the deep blue color was sharper than usual, cold and angry as they attempted to focus on the smaller nation.

"Then join me against France."

"Absolutely not!"

"You are insufferable!"

"And are you any better?" America asked, a flush coloring his too pale features. "Centuries! It's been centuries and all the two of you know how to do is bicker! You suck up the ones around you into this unending quarrel leaving them battered and yourself no worse for the wear! I, for one, am not going to be a part of it."

"And if I give you no choice?" Green eyes flashed dangerously as England approached the larger nation, his black boots meeting the wooden floorboards with uncharacteristically loud thumps. Once the pirate side had appeared, Arthur had always found it hard to hide it away again and currently, it was rearing its ugly head, sensing a challenge.

A small smirk appeared on the American's lips even in his weakened state. "Are you threatening me?"

"Would I ever do some thing so ungentlemanly?"

"You were a pirate once, weren't you?"

England chuckled threateningly, "Then you should realize I have ways of making people do what I want."

"And you should realize that I'm not just _anyone_," America said, glaring cockily at the older nation.

"No, but you did use to be mine." And suddenly, England had America pressed against the cabin's wooden wall, his lips pressed hard against the taller nation's, his hands rough as they pinned Alfred's wrists against the wall. "I think it's about time I reminded you of that fact," he murmured against the closed, unresponsive mouth. Moving away from the passive lips, he started kissing his way down America's jawline, nipping and licking at the wet flesh of his neck. And as stoic as the large nation was trying to be, he couldn't stop the slight quickening of his breath nor the urge to moan as England found a weak spot just above his collarbone and worked on it, sucking and biting the pale skin until it reddened before soothing over the area with a slow swirl of his tongue.

Hearing the strangled sound trying to escape from America's tightly closed mouth, the Briton pulled back, a smirk on his own lips. "Are you going to pretend that you're not enjoy this?" he whispered, his usually spring green eyes several shades darker as they bore into blue ones that were not completely absent of the lust.

"What's there to enjoy?" the American asked hoarsely, trying to ignore the fact that the hungry way England was looking at him was making him hard. "You're rather bad at this."

The British country glanced down, then back up with a raised brow. "That's not what your body's saying," he murmured, purposely rubbing against the younger's clothed erection. America was unable to hold back a low groan as his hips instinctively thrust forward, searching for more friction. "I think," England said huskily, leaning up until lips ghosting over the shell of the blond's ear, "that you're rather bad at lying."

"No worse than you," America growled, before turning his head to meet the smaller's lips in a rough kiss, coaxing a soft moan from the Briton. With that sound, the balance shifted abruptly and the larger nation ripped his hands from England's grasp. Surprised, England moved to pull away only to the younger switch their positions, slamming the smaller body into the wall, their lips still connected. A small breath of air escaped from Arthur from the impact and Alfred immediately took advantage, slipping his tongue into the other's mouth. For a moment, a battle of dominance ensued as England tried to regain the upper hand he had earlier, but was all in vain as the American quickly overpowered him, his mouth much more skillful than England expected.

The idea that America had done this before flitted suddenly into his mind and the Briton felt an unexpected pang of jealousy which was quickly forgotten when Alfred stripped him of his heavy military jacket and expertly rolled his hips. The friction was almost unbearable and they broke apart, pleasured moans leaving both their lips.

"Damn you," England breathed, trying to catch his breath. America just smirked, turning his attention to the smooth skin of the Briton's neck and chest, kissing and licking at every new area of flesh that was revealed as Alfred's deft, skillful fingers made quick work of the buttons on England's shirt. Soon he was on his knees, his tongue swirling in the Briton's navel, sending tremors through the smaller body. Whimpering, England threaded his hand into America's hair and just as the larger country was about to work his way back up again, Arthur abruptly yanked the blond head back and pushed it down until Alfred was at eye level with his hardened member straining against the fabric of his pants.

"You caused it, you take care of it," the Britain panted, his expression daring America to defy him. There a slight pause and Arthur was afraid that the American wouldn't do it, but Alfred only chuckled and leaned forward, slowly scraped his teeth over the clothed bulge, causing the small man to squeeze his eyes shut and throw his head back, hitting his head against the wall as a result of the sudden wave of pleasure. "Oh…" Arthur shakily breathed out.

"Patience, Arthur," America said, his voice dangerously low as he unbuckled England's belt, "is a virtue you have yet to master." Then, with a flick of his wrists, he pulled down the restricting fabric and undergarment, letting it pool to the Briton's feet. "I only hope you have more stamina than you do patience," he murmured cheekily before taking England's weeping member into his hand and squeezing, eliciting a moan from the older man.

"Just shut up already."

America looked up, taking in the Briton's flushed face, and winked cockily. "As you please," he said, amusement bleeding into his voice before he closed his mouth over England's hardened length, his tongue expertly stroking the member. Arthur literally sobbed as America started sucking lightly, the heat almost unbearable. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bit down on his knuckle, not wanting to make too much noise. They were on a ship after all.

But his attempt was all in vain because when Alfred moaned lightly, his hand down his own pants, stroking himself, the vibrations made England nearly loose it, his hips instinctively thrust forward into the hot cavern of America's mouth. Instantly, the younger nation had a bruising grip on Arthur's hips, forcing him still and the Briton groaned impatiently. Almost like he read his mind, Alfred smirked and relaxed his gag reflexes until the entire length was in his mouth, the tip bumping against the back of his throat.

England's breathing began to quicken even more as the sunshine blond started bobbing his head a bit, still sucking lightly. And just as the Briton looked down, deciding that the image of America deep-throating him was one of the most erotic things he had ever seen, America's teeth grazed over his shaft causing he came hard, screaming Alfred's name.

"Fuck…" was all he could say, his chest heaving and his legs trembling in an attempt to hold himself up. Still looking down, he watched as America pulled away and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. Then, with an ever smug expression, he swallowed all the cum in his mouth, making sure England saw the way his adam's apple moved up and down and the smaller nation could feel all his blood rushing southward once again.

"If that's what you want me to do," Alfred said, rising to his feet. He captured England's lips, tongue intruding once more and the older nation could taste himself in America's mouth, bitter yet enticing, along with an undertone of coffee and salt from the sea water he had swallowed. He quickly tugged America's semi-wet shirt up and they broke apart for a moment as he pulled it over the blond's head and disposed of it on the floor.

"This is going to hurt, you do realize that, right?" the younger nation breathed, littering England's jaw and neck with kisses.

"You think a bloody care right now?" the Briton asked, already getting hard again. His hands fumbled clumsily at the waistband of America's pants until the piece of clothing finally slipped off the slim waist. Undergarments followed soon after.

"You might later," the sunshine blond murmured. But before the Englishman could say anything snarky back, Alfred shoved his fingers into the Briton's mouth while simultaneously reaching down and stroking England's half-erect member, reviving it to its former glory. Understanding, Arthur hastily sucked on the digits, lathering them with saliva. America suppresses a moan at the ministrations and pulled his fingers away, eager to continue.

He plunged a finger into the older man, this time moaning aloud at the heat that surrounded the appendage while England winced at the intrusion. When it seemed that the Briton had gotten use to invasion, America added another finger and slowly scissor them apart. England gasped aloud as pain seemed to overwhelm his body, a long string of colorful curses leaving his mouth.

"Don't worry," Alfred whispered, kissing the older nation, "It'll get better." He added a third finger and started rubbing against the hot walls that surrounded his digits, searching for the sweet spot he knew he was near. When his hit it, it was evident by the keen wail that left England's mouth as the smaller nation slammed downward, trying to get the fingers to stroke him at the right place again.

"See? I told you." With that, America pulled his fingers out and hooked England's legs around his waist before he plunged himself into the smaller body, immediately hitting the bundle of nerves. Arthur squeezed his eyes and breathy moans continued to leave his lips, both pain and pleasure assaulting his senses. He grabbed at America's broad shoulders, nails digging into broad shoulders until they almost drew blood, his back still pressed against the wall.

Alfred shuddered, feeling the heat engulf him and it took all of his self control not to instantly start pounding into the Briton. But when England opened his eyes, glaring at him with lusty emerald eyes, and literally snarled, "Move!", American abandoned all his restraints and started pounding mercilessly into the smaller body, hitting the same sweet spot every time.

"Damn you, you big brute," Arthur gasped as he reached down and started stroking his neglected member. "Faster!"

America heeded these words, his pace quickening, his own breathing rough and tainted with moans. And all it took was one, two, three before England came long and hard, head thrown back, a scream ripping his throat. Hot muscles clamped down on Alfred and it only took a few more thrusts until he followed, an explosion of white appearing before his eyes.

"Oh god," Arthur panted, once he got down from his high. America could only nod in agreement as he pulled himself out and untangled the Briton's legs from his waist. They were shaking so badly that they could barely hold the Englishman up. Luckily, Alfred caught him before he fell over and gently lowered both of them to the ground until they were sitting side by side, chest heaving in an attempt to take in enough air.

"I think…" America said in between breaths, "…you should know…that you…just got…royally…fucked."

"Fuck you."

* * *

So, thoughts? I was going to make England dominant because he was in Pirate!England mode, but somehow, America just came up and turned the whole thing around. Poor England. The only person he can ever dominate is Japan. Haha


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